


Special Affair

by trashyeggroll



Category: Black Lightning (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Football | Soccer, Soccer AU, Strap-Ons, Threesome - F/F/F, Vaginal Fingering, i wrote this for me but ya'll can read it if you want, practice safe sex everyone, the level of plot is like the flavor in LaCroix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:14:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24264937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashyeggroll/pseuds/trashyeggroll
Summary: (soccer AU) Co-captains Anissa Pierce and Sara Grey haven't been able to figure out how to communicate and work together for the sake of their team, and Grace sets out to help them fix the relationship before the National Championship. It goes better than she could've hoped.
Relationships: Grace Choi/Anissa Pierce, Grace Choi/Anissa Pierce/Sara Grey
Comments: 13
Kudos: 30





	Special Affair

**Author's Note:**

> **Please read the tags.** Listen, I'm sitting here in lockdown, I miss soccer and I've watched Black Lightning season three like four times now, and nobody seems to be talking about how fine Major Sara Grey is??? 
> 
> Anyway, this is filthy and still rather lovey dovey, hope you enjoy.

“...and that’s the final whistle, no additional time will be added to the clock. Final score, 2-1, Freeland!”

The crowd offered smattering applause as the home team, the Lady Bulldogs, jogged toward their side of the soccer field lit by white stadium lights. It was late November in Georgia, meaning it wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t the typically swampy heat, either, and on the whole a rather nice night to be sipping smuggled mixed drinks in flasks and watching a game. The women on the road to defending their Division III title had tight expressions despite the critical win, but they good-naturedly exchanged handshakes with their opponents before settling down to listen to their coach’s post-action report. 

From the bleachers, Grace Choi couldn’t hear what Head Coach Bill Henderson was saying, but she could hazard a decent guess. Her fiancé, Anissa Pierce, was a team captain and had played winger for Henderson for all of her eligibility years, meaning that over those same years, Grace Choi had been dragged to many a team holiday or victory dinner, in addition to the players’ many, many raucous nights out at the bars. 

Celebratory shots of Absolut were unlikely tonight, though, because the team had fought hard for their semifinal win— _ too _ hard to go 2 and 1 against a team they throttled 4-0 in regular season play. An ugly win, as Anissa called them, and one that Grace knew would make the senior grumpy for days.

So she lazily let her eyes drink in the Adonis that was Anissa Pierce after a tough game, before she disappeared to wash off in the locker room. Sweat gleamed off every plane of her body as she stood, panting, hands on hips, and listening with an intensely focused expression. She was a skosh shorter than most players, but more than strong enough to make up for it, with stamina that left most others gasping on the field and footwork that could finesse a soccer ball through an obstacle course of champagne glasses without so much as a  _ clink. _ But, more to what initially caught Grace’s eye back in their freshman year, Anissa was also  _ gorgeous _ . Big, dark brown eyes behind full lashes, heart-shaped face with “God had time that day” cheekbones and plush lips—and she looked just as effortlessly beautiful in her gameday kit as she did in a cocktail dress and full makeup. 

And while she couldn’t hear what the coach was saying to his players with increasingly animated gestures, Grace could practically see the tension between Anissa and her co-captain, Sara Grey, goalie extraordinaire. She’d transferred from a Division II school the year before, moving herself from a second stringer to an integral part of a team, and hadn’t gotten along particularly well with Anissa since their first practice together. They were both next-level competitive and natural leaders, and since they didn’t play the same position, there was no way to really discern the “winner” between them.

The intra-team rivalry was, at worst, mostly annoying, especially when Grace wanted to just relax with her fiancé and not hear a long rant about Sara Grey, but at best, sometimes Anissa would get so worked up that it seemed the only way she could soothe her offended ego was to make Grace come as hard and as many times as possible before they fell asleep. Grace was  _ happy _ to take one (or more) for the team that way—pinned to the wall of their shower, perched on the kitchen counter, face pressed into the mattress—but in her humble, non-athletic opinion, the tension between captains had taken on an especially unhealthy edge during the championship tournament, to the point that the rest of the players were feeling it, too. 

“Hey, babe,” Grace crooned when Anissa finally emerged from the unmarked metal door under the stands, looking equal parts pissy and exhausted. She clicked her tongue as the downtrodden player lumbered straight into her open arms and tucked her chin against Grace’s shoulder, smelling like coconut soap and grass clippings. “You won!”

“Barely,” Anissa huffed into her shirt.

“C’mon… you can pout all you want at home.” Grace wrapped an arm over her fiancé’s shoulders, making dramatically empathetic noises as they headed to the parking lot, mostly ignored by the other players and their respective loved ones heading the same direction. 

After dumping Anissa’s duffel in the back of her hatchback, Grace closed the trunk door and nearly yelped to spot a hulking silhouette standing on the driver’s side. 

“Sorry,” said the owner of the shadow—Sara Grey, who must have been hunched behind the door of the adjacent pickup truck when they approached. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.”

Grace nodded, offering a tight smile. They had  _ almost _ made it out of the lot without incident, but Anissa was now getting back out of the passenger seat, all raised hackles and narrowed eyes peering over the roof of the Toyota. She was so quick to react, in fact, that she got caught on the seatbelt she’d already buckled, and the ensuing struggle made her even  _ more _ frustrated, and that mess sealed the deal on the tone of the first words out of her mouth: “You know, if you  _ listened _ to me when I call the play, we would’ve been up three, easy.”

The mildly friendly expression Grey had been directing at Grace immediately soured, and her hazel eyes snapped to Anissa with a hint of hostility. “You don’t have total authority out there, Pierce. Sometimes I see things you can’t.”

“And sometimes I do, sometimes the grandpas in the stands do, what are you even—no, you know what, I’m not letting  _ you _ ruin my evening. See you Monday.” With that, Anissa dropped back into the car and shut the door, leaving Grace and the red-faced Grey to awkwardly sidle past each other. The confrontation had been short, at least. 

“Hey.”

The word was soft, almost like it was immediately regretted, but Grace paused with her fingers on the door handle, looking back at the goalie standing near the hitch of her truck. 

“I’m not trying to jam her up. I swear. You believe me, right?” 

There was a sincerity to Grey’s voice that made Grace fully turn to face her, ignoring Anissa’s muffled question from inside the car. She studied the hotshot player under the orange lights, trying to decide whether to break one of her cardinal rules and intervene in “team business”. Grey could be terse, but it seemed to come more from a singular and persistent inner focus, and not arrogance or selfishness, which was how Anissa almost always read her teammate’s reactions. 

“I know,” Grace said finally, fingering her keys with her other hand. “You two just  _ really _ don’t trust each other, but… I don’t know how to help you with that. You have to work it out together.”

Grey nodded, looking like she was genuinely considering the reply, and her gaze drooped down to the bed of the truck.

It didn’t help with Anissa’s temper, Grace knew, that Sara Grey was objectively quite handsome—all strong jaw, thick neck, and sharp fade haircut culminating in a mop of loose black curls that hung into striking hazel eyes. She had the broad frame and long limbs fitted to her position on the field, but honestly, the definition of her arms and shoulders as she leaned on the edge of the truck bed seemed just  _ unnecessary _ .

“Anyway.” Grey’s voice, thankfully, jolted Grace out of that line of thought. “Sorry for the trouble. Have a good night.” 

“Get some sleep,” encouraged Grace, sincerely, before popping her door open, shaking her head at Anissa’s offended huffing from the passenger seat.

“What was that? What’d she say?”

“You two have  _ got _ to learn some communication skills,” sighed Grace as she turned on the car. 

Anissa scoffed. “She’s a pain in the ass.”

“Well… I hate to be the first person ever to say this to you, babe, but you can kinda be a stubborn ass sometimes, too.” The words fell out of her mouth before Grace was 100% sure she’d meant to say them at all, but aside from a brief look of shock, Anissa just started laughing a tired, semi-hysterical laugh, and she relaxed. “Yeah, you got nothing, because I’m right.”

“Sure, but I’m  _ your _ stubborn pain in the ass.”

Grace rolled her eyes, even as she leaned over for an indulgent kiss, long enough that the hybrid car’s gas engine turned itself over and kicked on.

—

The day after their narrow semifinal win, Anissa woke up feeling her typical post-game soreness, but also in a particularly sour mood that was usually only a side effect of a loss.

Her fiancé, Grace, was well accustomed to ignoring Anissa’s nuclear meltdown alarm, trained instead to only drag herself out of bed when her own phone started chirping its churchbell tones. While Anissa quietly changed into compression shorts and a sports bra, Grace just sighed and rolled over into the warm spot she’d vacated, dragging the comforter with her to make a down cocoon and leaving only the top of her head to her nose visible. She was studying for her LSATs by day and working as a part-time bartender by night, which sometimes meant she was collapsing into bed just a couple hours before Anissa was getting up, but… There were only so many of these mornings left. For good and bad changes on the horizon. 

A fifth-year senior, Anissa would walk for her biology degree next summer, and more distressingly, her college soccer career would, officially, come to an end after the championship. And then… came the problems. The winger didn’t have much of a plan for herself. Grace was hoping to get into some law schools in Texas, and Anissa was happy to follow, but once she got there…? Just big, flashing question marks. She could apply to higher programs—med school was a strong contender—but secretly, Anissa had been hoping to get scouted for a professional gig. Henderson didn’t help by swearing up and down that she had a chance, but as the days in the season dwindled, she was still waiting for some sign of interest from a league team. 

The sky hung wintry dark, the air pleasantly cool, as Anissa stepped out of their bungalow rental house to go for her morning run. In the post-season, she tried to keep to a midgrade speed and less than ten miles, but the long jaunts were integral to clearing her head each day, making room for the next big thing. 

Right now, the next big thing was, of course, the final match against National City University. They’d just barely bested the hoity toity private school the year before, final score 1-0, but the NCU squad looked better this year, and Anissa wasn’t sure that Freeland had kept up pace. The Lady Bulldogs’ best defensive back, Giselle Cutter, had broken her shin towards the end of the regular season, and one of their top-scoring forwards, Emily Briggs, wasn’t going to get over a bad case of mono before the finals. Meanwhile, NCU’s roster of seniors included both Kara and Alex Danvers, the fireball-shooting Rapinoe sisters of National City, and superstar Iris West, the midfielder who’d already earned her first cap with the USWNT. 

Anissa slipped her AirPods into her ears and stretched on the porch before jogging off into the dim light. A couple streets down, and she was able to exit the residential area to the trail that ran alongside it, one of those neverending gravel paths that would allegedly take her to Ohio if she just kept going. She’d more than once considered testing that information this past season.

There were two things in life that made Anissa’s soul lift and brighten: Grace Choi, and soccer. She was fully prepared to have and hold the former for the  _ rest _ of her life, but soccer had been her steady source of comfort and joy since her mom signed her up for the four-year-old, coed team through the local community center. She never felt a peace quite like when stepping onto the field, or when the ball tapped against her feet, jumping and rolling at her will like an extension of her body.

So the fact that her possible final moments of real play were being tarnished by Sara Grey… It was more than about the game. It was personal. 

Persistently serious and hard-headed, Grey’s entry to the scene had improved their season outcome by a couple games, but the cost didn’t seem worth it. Henderson had insisted that she be a co-captain in what Anissa suspected was mostly a soft payoff for Grey coming to play at Freeland. That was fine—Anissa had co-led the team her junior year with a then-senior Kara Fowdy, and they got along just fine. Grey, though, was always  _ questioning _ , always trying to get the last word. They’d won a championship without her, but she acted like her D2 experience made her some kind of God-given gift to the program.  _ “At my old school…” _

Anissa scoffed out loud and turned up her music volume to try to drown out Sara Grey, shifting her focus to her breathing. It worked. Mostly.

—

“Excuse  _ you _ , what am  _ I _ supposed to do about it?” Grace groaned at her phone, which was sitting next to her on the bed.

From the screen, senior forward Jamillah Olsen was making increasingly wide puppy dog eyes at her. “Anissa and GI Goalie are going to lose the finals for us. Everyone’s starting to divide between the two of them, and if we lose, it’ll all be blame and drama. That’s not how this team should go down. We need a third party.”

“I think being Anissa’s fiancé precludes me from that.” Grace leaned over from where she was rolling a joint off-camera to add, “Why don’t you have them just fistfight it out?”

Jamillah laughed, breaking the pouting marathon. “They will  _ kill _ each other. Tell me I’m wrong. And if they’re both in the hospital or jail, then what? We’ll  _ definitely _ lose.”

“Isn’t this what Henderson is for?”

“He doesn’t get it. He’s a good dude, but the man’s… very black and white. Notta lotta gray for Coach. He can’t really get things done when it isn’t about soccer, you know?”

With another long sigh, Grace quickly licked the Zig-Zag paper edge and folded it over, rolling the cylinder between her fingers. It took long enough that Jamillah made a long, pleading noise that might’ve been a string of words or just a blubbering whine, and though the dramatics were for humor, Grace knew the desperation level wasn’t. “You’re upsetting Junior with all that racket.”

“Grace Junior”, as Anissa had dubbed their pet cat, didn’t actually look all that upset where she was, fast asleep on the pillows behind Grace Sr., but Jamillah couldn’t see that, either. 

“Just, please consider: You’re the  _ only _ one who Anissa will listen to on this. You’re invested enough to know how much this matters, but removed enough to mediate.”

“And Grey? Why would she listen to me?”

Jamillah chuckled to herself before even replying, and Grace leaned back into frame with narrowed eyes as she said, “Well, ahem, I mean, you’re just so pretty…”

“Shut up,” laughed Grace, holding up a middle finger. 

“Give ‘er a little smile, little  _ je ne sais, _ sparkle.”

“Goodbye. I’ll consider your request to seduce your team captains into getting along.”

“Yeah, for the championship. Love ya,” crowed Jamillah before the FaceTime disconnected, leaving Grace just shaking her head. 

Her friend hadn’t  _ really _ been suggesting offering herself up as a teambuilding activity, but her cheeks warmed with—No, it was  _ ridiculous. _ That was ridiculous. Sure, she and Anissa had talked about their yes’s and no’s long ago, before even calling themselves girlfriends, and yes, bringing a mutually  _ admired _ person into their bed was a standing offer, but…  _ That _ was ridiculous. Sara Grey, of all people? 

She quickly lit her perfect little morning pick-me-up, ready to clear her mind of such  _ ridiculous _ thoughts like both Grey and Anissa kissing her skin… No. Grace took a long, long drag, and was just puffing it into the room when she heard the front door open. 

A few seconds later, Anissa herself appeared in the doorway to their bedroom, looking sweaty and reddened in her Ivy Park outfit.

“Hey,” panted the winger, face breaking into a smile. 

“Good morning. That was a long one,” Grace replied with a quick glance at her phone. Anissa had been gone twice as long as usual for this time in the season. 

“Yeah. Trying to clear my head. Sara Grey has been living there way too long.”

The fine hairs on the back of Grace’s neck rose at the name, and for a moment, she thought Anissa had heard the conversation with Jamillah, or even her subsequent wayward thoughts—but her sweaty athlete just leaned down to give her a quick kiss before heading to the shower.

“Hey, you know what?” Grace blurted, stopping Anissa before she stepped into the spray. Her heart was pounding in her chest, but she also felt slightly punch-drunk, like she was careening forward just to see what happened. “Since the finals are pushed to next week, we should have a party. Get the team together. Maybe some bonding?”

Anissa studied her face, naked and hovering just in view, but eventually nodded, looking mildly impressed. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

When she disappeared behind the frosted glass door, Grace let out a long breath and glanced down at Junior. Her orange eyes were opened to slits, as if she were looking at her mom with suspicion, and Grace decided that she didn’t need to put up with such accusations, and she went to the kitchen to start brewing coffee. 

—

Team parties were a well-worn ritual by now. They didn’t have to make lists or decide who was bringing what anymore; Grace knew exactly how many red cups to buy, how many handles of whiskey were needed to supplement what the guests would bring. Anissa had, in essence, perfected the art of baby proofing the house, and they had two full size air mattresses to add to the couch, guest bed, and floor space for those who were too far gone to go home.

Their neighbors were some good hearted, spoiled white frat boys on one side, and good hearted, spoiled white sorority girls on the other, so noise was never an issue, and Anissa had Ella Mai blaring from the house’s indoor-outdoor speaker system by the time the first guests started parking along the street.

Within a couple hours, most everyone had arrived, and while Grace could tell the team was a little more reserved than usual, they were starting to loosen up as the jello shots disappeared. 

But it wasn’t until the party was in full swing that Sara Grey showed up, stag, but wielding a tupperware of fragrant brownies that she warned should be eaten in quarters to start. 

In spite of nodding to that advice, Grace popped half of a brownie in her mouth when Grey was busy looking for a plate in their kitchen, as if any of the players or their partners would really care about the desserts’ presentation. Erica, the rising star the other players called Train, had brought potato salad in a gallon plastic bag and plopped it right on the dinner table with a ladle sticking out of the top, like a droopy flag on a laminated moon.

“Thanks for the invite,” Grey continued. “Team needs to blow off some steam.”

As if to emphasize her point, a loud crash and a raucous round of shouting came from the living room. Grace shrugged. “It’s like the college equivalent to preparing halftime orange slices.” 

Grey looked up from arranging the brownies and laughed, dimples forming on her cheeks, which shouldn’t have surprised Grace as much as it did. “Yeah, I guess it is. I’ve seen orange slices save a game, so hopefully this is just as effective.”

“Mhmm.” Grace’s eyes flickered down of their own accord. The goalie was wearing red-brown chinos and a gray zipper hoodie, with an orange bandana peeking out around her neck. She was also sporting a blue Disneyland baseball cap, which was at once both annoyingly ironic and somehow… endearing. Grace didn’t think she’d seen Grey in a hat before, and it made the tall woman look more boyish, less stern. 

“Hey.” Anissa’s voice caught Grace’s attention as she glided into the kitchen, looking as relaxed as she’d been in weeks. She gave her fiancé a longer-than-seemed-strictly-polite kiss that tasted of vodka and something sour, and then turned to the goalie with a carefree, “Grey. Glad you could make it.”

Grace casually glanced between the two of them as Anissa settled an arm around her hips, not possessive, but affectionate. The tips of Grey’s cheeks were tinged red, and her hands had gone still on the counter—not  _ quite _ gripping the edge. Holding on, for sure. 

“Thanks for the party,” the goalie said, too quickly and with a tight smile. “Good idea.”

That seemed to legitimately surprise Anissa, who leaned a hip against the other side of the tiled island. “Oh. Yeah, thanks. Wouldn’t usually between games like this, but we have extra time.”

Grey nodded haltingly, and then dragged her hands away to shove them in her front pockets. “Cool. Yeah. So.”

Just before the strange silence that followed that exchange of non-sentences got unbearable, they were interrupted by Jamillah, who roared into the room demanding that they join the impending beer pong tournament. Inevitably, that meant the white boys from next door had come over to party, which always added an element of humor to the night, but more importantly, the game gave Grace an idea.

Before Grey and Anissa could get their bearings, she put on her best uninterested expression and announced, “Babe, I don’t think I want to play tonight, but you should show those boys how it’s done. With Grey.”

Her words forced the two players to look at each other again, and a moment of choice hung in the air. One or both of them could decline, and it might be a little awkward, but that would probably mean they weren’t ready for mending bridges just yet. 

Except, in a night of surprises, Anissa simply shrugged and raised her eyebrows at Grey, who nodded back. They exchanged a hesitant fist bump, and even though they said nothing before going into the next room, Grace felt a little flare of victory in her stomach. 

—

Having only been to Anissa Pierce’s house once or twice before, Sara Grey had been more nervous about going to the party than she’d ever be willing to admit. Nervous enough that she sat in her Tundra, parked on the street, for a solid twenty minutes before going inside the house. She knew she wasn’t  _ great _ at parties—not like Pierce, whose cup overfloweth with warm personality and a spitfire wit. Sara could see that even though they barely ever hung out, outside of practice and games. When they did, it was always with the rest of the team, and she could stay well enough away from her gregarious co-captain. 

The tension of the business side of things, Sara didn’t regret. Pierce was partial to digging her heels into her position, and no matter how much Sara tried to reframe the discussion, she just didn’t  _ listen. _ The fact that she even listened to Henderson seemed to be only because he was good friends with Pierce’s mom and dad, both of whom were professors at the college. But Sara had insight to give, and she felt like she wasn’t always  _ disagreeing _ with Pierce so much as suggesting slight changes, but the animosity between them was to the level of political discussions at a Thanksgiving dinner; Pierce took everything out of her mouth as a personal affront. 

It was hurting the team, and while that bothered Sara as someone who wanted to win, it also made her feel just a little more lonely, a little more isolated in a town where she had no one but her fellow players to keep her company. She’d transferred schools after a tornado of an affair and breakup with an assistant coach, and while it was nice to be front and center talent at Freeland, Sara missed having a  _ good _ team dynamic, full of off-field support and care that showed during games. 

So in the interest of the team and her woefully empty social life, Sara walked into the Pierce house with her offering of cosmic brownies to find, thankfully, a lot of happy expressions and enthusiastic waves hello.

Pierce’s fiancé, Grace Choi, had always been kind to her, at least. She seemed to be a good foil to her partner—a bit quiet, much harder to read, but Sara had heard Grace rant about Governor Kemp enough times that she knew the law school hopeful had a sharp edge to her, too, and she wasn’t afraid to unleash it. 

And as Sara stood trying to look non-threatening in their kitchen while the couple shared a kiss, the goalie was suddenly reminded that these two women in particular also had an  _ ungodly _ disbursement of cheekbones between them. She didn’t know why her brain went to that, but in the moment, Sara blamed it on her nerves. 

Jamillah saved her from further awkwardness by announcing the beer pong tournament, and when Anissa had extended the olive branch to form a partnership, Sara accepted it without thinking, knowing that if she let her brain take hold of any worries, she’d have refused the invite.

The first few rounds were not without heavy moments—Pierce scoffing when Sara missed three in a row, Sara trying not to groan with goalie frustration when Pierce missed knocking a ball away, after it bounced up from a cup’s edge. 

But… she had to admit, as the night went on, between cheering for their arbitrary faceoff favorites or playing together, Sara felt like she and Pierce were getting somewhere, with each other. Figuring things out, millimeters at a time. Sara said,  _ can I suggest something? _ and Pierce would  _ listen, _ without a fight. Pierce would make her own point, and Sara could process it, without getting defensive. And it was just fucking  _ beer pong. _

Their tenuous alliance carried them all the way to the final, against Jamillah and her girlfriend Chenoa (the neighbor boys having long been shut out). Their house rules were that if a team landed the last cup, they could only win by having their teammate do the same, immediately after. 

It came down to one remaining cup each, and Sara truly thought it was over at one point, with Jamillah sinking her ball, and then Chenoa’s swirling the rim before Anissa was able to pop it out with a puff of air. The onlookers particularly enjoyed that bit of drama, cheering hysterically, and Sara’s heartbeat was pounding between her ears with the thrill of it. 

“Okay. This is it. I feel it,” Anissa announced as she tested her overhand toss, one eye narrowed like an archer nocking an arrow. “Wait—Grace?”

Someone hooted, and though Grace gave a ceremonial eyeroll, she moved closer to give Anissa a quick kiss “for good luck”, and then stayed standing behind her. 

Anissa sighed a few more times, and when she seemed satisfied with her breathing, she loosed the ping pong ball, and it sailed in a perfect arc—right into their remaining cup. 

The music was completely drowned out by the ensuing screaming, combinations of cheering and trash talk, and Sara thought she might be sick as she realized that all eyes were about to turn to her. She’d rather weather a tied match shootout than keep cool at a party under this much pressure, but she couldn’t escape now. So as the noise quieted, Sara closed her eyes and took several deep breaths of her own.  _ It’s just beer pong. It’s just beer pong. It’s just— _

Sara’s eyes snapped open when a small hand landed on her forearm, and she looked up to its owner, finding Grace Choi smirking at her. 

“For good luck?”

The offer nearly made Sara’s jaw hit the ground. She looked quickly at Anissa, who was saying something  _ encouraging,  _ as much as her ears didn’t believe it, and then back at the honey-eyed Grace. And what the hell—this night was already leaps and bounds beyond what she expected—Sara nodded, hands twitching against her command to stay at her sides as Grace tipped up to press their lips together. It was quick and light, nothing but a shade past a peck, but Sara’s neck warmed and the hint of jasmine that reached her nose over the beer-scented room tied her stomach into knots. 

“Thanks,” she managed, hoarsely, and, feeling like she was on the adrenaline rush of a skydive, Sara lined up her throw and took it on the next swing. 

The ball bounced off the rim, Jamillah tried to knock it away—but she missed, and the white sphere dropped right into the cup. 

—

When she’d suggested such an arcane bonding ritual as beer pong, Grace hadn’t even come close to realizing how well it would turn out. While the other players and guests roared like a packed stadium, Grey and Anissa were  _ hugging _ each other, smiling and shouting and looking like they might do a post-goal pose if there had been more room. 

_ My work here is done, _ Grace had texted to Jamillah under the ruckus. 

_ At the price of my $20 buy in, _ Jamillah sent back, with the sobbing emoji. 

The rest of the night seemed to ride on the high of the captains’ win, well into the single digit hours—but like all good parties, the good times had to come to an end. There were Lyfts called and blankets laid over people passing out on the air mattresses and floors, and eventually, the house sat quiet and dark at last. 

Pleasantly buzzed, Grace finished putting a load of dishes in the washer before heading to the one room that was off-limits to guests sleeping over—the master bedroom. Anissa was already there, looking hazy, but surprisingly awake as she reviewed photos from the night in the players’ group chat. 

“Hope my mom doesn’t see this one,” teased Anissa, turning her phone to show Grace a picture someone had caught of her kissing Sara Grey before the final toss. 

“ _ You _ look into it,” Grace shot right back, using two fingers to zoom in on Anissa’s nearby expression—eyes wide, mouth slack. When she felt she’d made her point, she shrugged out of her flannel, kicked off her jeans, and added, “Don’t say I never do anything for you.”

“Oh, I would  _ never _ .” Anissa’s voice took on a deeper tone, head cocking to one side as she smirked. “You do a lot of  _ things _ for me, babe.” 

Grace shook her head even as she willingly took the bait, sliding one leg over Anissa’s lap where she sat against the headboard. She was just about to kiss the smugness from those lips when a noise startled them—Anissa’s arms immediately wrapping around Grace’s bare shoulders, hugging her close, which didn’t make much sense, but Grace just appreciated not being tossed to the ground in the moment of panic. 

“Sh- _ shit _ , I’m sorry,” Sara Grey, of all people, was stammering from the door to the master bathroom. 

“Grey,  _ Jesus _ , what the  _ fuck?” _ snarled Anissa, tightening her grip on her fiancé.

“Sorry, sorry—the other bathroom was locked, I’m so sorry.” Grey was tripping over clothes discarded on the floor as she tried to keep her eyes on the ceiling and find an escape route. “Oh my God, I’m sorry.”

And as she picked her way to the door in an avalanche of apologies, Grace’s brain started being very, very unhelpful. The feel of Anissa’s powerful thighs tensing under hers, the possessive dig of her fingers into Grace’s skin… She put a hand on Anissa’s chest and leaned back, saying to Grey before she could overthink it, “Wait.”

The air seemed to leave the room as the goalie slowly teetered to a stop. She kept her eyes up, though, and had the expression of someone expecting a slap even though they were feet away from each other. 

Before going any further, Grace looked back at Anissa, questioning. Understanding dawned on her fiancé’s face, and then she seemed to cycle through a string of emotions before making a decision and giving Grace a sharp nod.

“Are you  _ sure _ ?” Grace whispered, still somewhat convincing herself, despite the thrill rising in her lower belly. 

“Yes,” Anisssa answered, firmly, but quietly.

And that was one part of the consent Grace needed. She slipped off of Anissa’s lap and rose to her feet, wearing just her bra and panties, and the sound of her approaching footsteps convinced Grey to turn her eyes back down to Earth. Her olive skin was flushed bright red all the way from her neck to her forehead, but she didn’t move when Grace stopped a few inches away. 

“You don’t have to leave. If you don’t want to.”

Just like with the beer pong kiss, Grey’s eyes automatically went to Anissa over Grace’s shoulder, and after a beat, she seemed to get the permission she wanted, because only then did her posture relax ever so slightly, and she inclined her head towards Grace again. Up close, Grey’s eyes were even more striking—amber around her pupils, and then a gradient of earthy colors to the forest green outer ring of her irises. And they were filled with something electric right now, part nervous, part excited. 

Still, Grace let the taller woman be the one to close the distance this time—and when their lips met, it was immediately so much  _ more _ than the “good luck” peck. Sara Grey smelled like musky cologne and sweet, light beer, and the kiss was surprisingly gentle at first, but quickly picked up in intensity. Grace’s eyes fluttered shut as Grey’s tongue slipped into her mouth, warm and wet, and all the blood in her body started rushing south when Grey’s big, wide hands— _ goalie _ big hands—landed on her waist and dragged their hips together. Her own hands sprung to life, as if just remembering they could move, and indulgently slid around to squeeze the muscles in those broad shoulders, flexing and rippling under her touch. 

Behind them, the mattress creaked, and Grace gasped into Grey’s mouth when Anissa’s fingers, warm and sure, traced her sides, up, and around to stroke her breasts. It was bolder than she’d been expecting right out of the gate from her fiancé, and anticipation of the night ahead was already soaking Grace’s underwear, spreading stickiness between her thighs whenever she shifted. 

Inspired, Grace pulled back from Grey, soothing the loss with a hand at the nape of that strong neck. She craned around to kiss Anissa, long and slow and searching for hesitation, but again, there was none. So, when she pulled back again, Grace used her hold on both women to encourage them closer. 

Their eyes searched each other’s over her shoulder, some kind of silent conversation, or pact, and then Sara Grey was kissing Anissa Pierce while both their hands were working to remove Grace’s bra, and the sight was so maddeningly hot that Grace could’ve come on the spot with a quick swipe between her legs.  _ That _ threatened to become a reality when Grey started grinding her hips forward, tipping the three of them towards the bed, and revealing a new friend to Grace, in the form of a hardness poking her thigh. She reached down and palmed the thickness, smirking when it made Grey jump and break off her kiss with Anissa. 

“You come prepared,” Grace tried to tease, but it came out more breathless than she’d intended. 

Grey licked her reddened lips. “It, uh… Just helps me feel more confident. In general. Doesn’t have to, uh… be here.”

Anissa was silent behind her, falling away to sit on the bed, and Grace stopped to search the taller woman’s face again. She looked nervous, maybe a bit sheepish, but definitely excited, and the admission was so unexpectedly earnest that Grace lifted a hand to a chiseled olive cheek, resting her palm there until Grey relaxed into the touch. 

Quietly, so that Grey would know she wasn’t putting on a show, Grace asked, “Are you okay with this?”

The goalie nodded quickly, teeth sinking into her lower lip as her eyes jumped between Grace’s chest and eyes.

“Just tell us if you want to stop, okay? And… c’mere.”

Throttling the pace seemed to have helped, because one of those rakish, crooked smiles appeared on Grey’s lips before she leaned back in to resume their kiss, and the stiffness was gone from her spine—until it wasn’t, because Anissa said something from the bed, and then Grey was lifting Grace off her feet like a ragdoll, hard muscles flexing against Grace’s chest. She reflexively wrapped her legs around the goalie’s hips, too caught up in the toy trapped against Grey’s thigh to wonder what Anissa was saying in a thick tone behind her. 

Whatever they were working out, it didn’t matter to Grace as long as nobody stopped  _ touching _ her. Her pulse pounded between her ears, and the pull of  _ need _ behind her clit was a deeper, wilder thing than she’d felt in a long time, and if the two godlets didn’t hurry up and decide on a strategy, she was sure she would just burn up into smoke, like a dying star.

Mercifully, the two players seemed to agree on the urgency. Anissa’s hands landed on her back, blunt fingernails scratching lightly, as Grey walked them to the bed, fingers gripping Grace’s ass in a starkly rougher touch. She might’ve moaned a protest when Grey tugged at her legs, disentangling them and dropping her to the mattress, except Anissa was right there, stroking her neck and slipping her tongue between her lips in a Spiderman kiss from above her head. She was sprawled with her knees off the edge of the bed, and when Anissa let her come up for air, Grey had divested herself of her shirt and bra, chinos unzipped, but her hands had paused over her open belt. 

“Let me,” Grace panted, holding onto Anissa’s hand with one of hers and extending the other to Grey’s crotch as she sat up. 

Grey tucked her chin to watch, which seemed clear enough of an agreement. The amber center of her eyes had disappeared under her pupils, and a sheen of sweat had formed on her forehead, but there was no more nervousness in her sharp-angle features. Grace reached into her fly with a grin, pushing past the elastic waistband of her silk boxers until her fingers found warm, ridged silicone. Grey’s hips bucked into her hand with such casual power that Grace’s body throbbed at how that  _ strength _ would feel driving into her. Soon, hopefully. 

Anissa settled behind her, legs on either side of Grace’s and chin resting on her shoulder. She must’ve been undressing while Grace was distracted, because nothing but hot skin pressed against her back while Anissa’s hands began to wander her front, stroking between her breasts and occasionally stopping to pinch one of her nipples a little harder than teasing, like a goad.

Grace decided to take that bait tonight, too. She pushed Grey’s pants to her ankles, heart jumping at every metallic  _ clink _ of her buckle, but on a hunch, left the black boxers on, covering most of the straps underneath. 

Here, she looked up, partly to check in, and partly to meet the predator-intense gaze directed back down at her. Grey’s muscles were trembling when Grace ran a palm up the back of the goalie’s thick thighs, and she grinned when another touch to the caramel-colored toy had the taller woman thrusting forward again, nearly bumping her chin with the bulbed head. 

“Do you have a condom?” she husked, making a loose fist and giving the shaft a couple testing pumps. 

Grey’s eyes fluttered, brows knitting like she was having trouble processing the words—understandable, given Grace’s hand on her dick while Anissa’s were heading south, in full view—and then she nodded and choked out, “Pocket.”

If the thing had been buried in an overstuffed wallet, Grace might’ve gotten one of theirs from the bedside drawers, but Grey’s was in the front pocket, and it seemed newly purchased.  _ Good on you, Sara Grey.  _

“Can you help me with this, babe?” 

Anissa chuckled, reluctantly dragging her fingers away from where they’d been just reaching the edge of the black hair between Grace’s legs, and took the wrapper from her fiancé while kissing the side of her neck. She ripped it open after a few torturous seconds, and Grace and Grey watched with slack jaws as Anissa carefully rolled it over the head of the toy and, with some help from Grace, all the way down to the thick base. Her insides were twisting greedily, demanding something to fill the ache, and with the final piece of preparation in place… Grace’s patience was nearly spent.

“One of you, both of you—I don’t care, but I need you to  _ fuck me,” _ she groaned up at Grey, even as she shoved Anissa’s fingers back down, until her fiancé was groaning in her ear at the wetness that met them.

The players reacted to the direct instruction… enthusiastically. Grace nearly sobbed with relief when two sets of hands went to work, two mouths trading kisses wherever she turned her head, whenever she came up for air, until her head was spinning—and somehow, her body went with it. Grey was maneuvering her around the bed, turning her onto her stomach and half-hauling her farther onto the mattress. Anissa was leaning against the headboard again, legs parted, and she helped guide Grace’s head down between them. Grace’s whole body coiled when she realized the gameplan, and she groaned when her lips parted, her tongue tasting Anissa while her love’s hand curled into her hair. 

Meanwhile, Grey loomed behind her, dropping to her knees and slipping a hand between Grace’s spread thighs. Her fingers were unfamiliar, somewhat hesitant, but Grace gave her hips an encouraging wiggle, and two began sinking inside,  _ finally _ . She saw stars at the stretch, inner muscles fluttering around thick knuckles that kept going and  _ going, _ deep enough to make her keen against Anissa’s clit by the time they bottomed out. 

“Harder than that,” Anissa was saying over her head, playful and breathy, and Grace realized she was talking to her teammate when the fingers inside her pulled back and slammed forward again, and oh, _yes, harder—_ even though Grace’s mouth was occupied, Anissa was making sure she got what she needed. 

After a couple more testing thrusts, Grey launched into a deep, steady rhythm, rocking Grace’s body forward on each stroke. Her responding moans of relief were like an energy transfer straight into Anissa’s clit, which pulsed and swelled between her attentive lips and tongue. Anissa’s fingers were twisting tighter in her hair, hips jerking into Grace’s mouth, and the scarlet edge of pain of the grip undid her. The orgasm caught her off guard, seeming to explode from her belly to fill every cell with white-hot pleasure. Her body clamped down on Grey’s fingers, but her new lover—they were no longer just acquaintances, that much was certain—kept pumping into her, hard, unrelenting, straight past where she thought she was getting overstimulated and right back to that rising pressure… 

And then she pulled out, and Grace almost turned to protest before remembering why—she was all too succinctly reminded by the cooled, broad head of the toy suddenly prodding at her entrance. Sticky fingers moved to hold her open, and then Grey began the process of sinking six inches inside. Grace was dripping wet, and there was no resistance, but the toy was much girthier than even Grey’s fingers, and the delicious stretch threatened to bring satisfied tears to her eyes. 

“You okay?” whispered Anissa, in a ludicrously affectionate tone, given the circumstances and the fact that Grace had stopped what she was doing when Grey began. 

“Mhmm,” Grace managed, nodding against her fiancé’s inner thigh.

“I love you. You look so pretty like this.”

“ _ God _ .” Grace choked on the single syllable as Anissa’s hand slid gently down her arched spine, and Grey bottomed out again with a firm push. “I love you, too.”

And it all got somewhat hazy for awhile, with Anissa stroking her hair and murmuring filthy encouragements and Grey picking up speed, both hands on Grace’s hips, hard as iron and leveraging her weight to push forward harder, deeper, until she was hunched over Grace’s back, grunting and panting as she rutted hard and fast against the back of her thighs. It was sweaty and hot and the air smelled like sex, filled with wet, sucking sounds, and Grace was drooling against her fiancé’s thigh, hands gripping the sheets for dear life while the two women gave her what she hadn’t known she’d  _ needed. _ Everything they had to give. 

Without slowing, Grey curled a long arm around Grace’s shoulders and took hold of one of her wrists, guiding it gently, but firmly between Anissa’s legs. Her hips did stutter when Grace didn’t immediately respond, and the threat of being edged out of her looming orgasm seemed to break through the haze. She found Anissa’s clit on instinct and muscle memory, the bundle of sensitive nerves harder and more swollen than before, and rubbed against the wet flesh in the firm, back-and-forth motion she knew never failed to make her fiancé come undone. 

Not that Grace wasn’t  _ right _ there with her. Where her first peak had been a sucker punch in the sternum, this one rose like floodwaters, building as a shiver in her thighs that made her want to collapse to the sheets, but Grey’s strong arm had moved to circle her belly, holding her up and in place, nearly limp but taking everything those powerful hips and abs had to offer. The pressure grew into a roar, and her muscles began to flex and shake, despite how badly as she wanted to let herself be sandwiched between these two stubborn, gorgeous idiots for several hours more—but then she felt a gush into her palm, Anissa’s fingernails digging into her shoulder as she came with a hoarse shout, and Grace was completely helpless at the sight and sound and feel of it all, so she stopped fighting and let the orgasm wash her away. She felt like she was at once tumbling out of her body and never quite so aware of every inch of burning flesh, with Grey and Anissa holding her atoms together on all sides, working her through it, until they were all collapsed in a sweaty, panting pile. 

Unsurprisingly, and especially given the clock said 4:07 am, it took awhile for them to calm down. Grey had fallen against her back, her bulky weight pinning Grace to Anissa’s legs, and Anissa was breathing heavy, limp against the headboard while her fingers idly played with Grace’s hair, spread over the sheets. Grace felt full to bursting with satisfaction, her lips and knees raw, Anissa’s taste on her tongue and Grey’s sweat mingling with hers on her back.  _ That _ had gone even better than her imagination dared suggest. 

Eventually, though, Grey’s weight shifted, and she muttered a warning before pulling out. It did sting a bit, but mostly Grace’s muscles were just pleasantly warm and sore at the sudden emptiness. Her entire body hummed with lingering aftershocks, and she could barely keep her eyes open, even though she could tell the calm settling over the room was accompanied by hints of awkwardness. For whatever it was worth, Anissa and Grey started saying something to each other in gentle tones before Grace could muster the energy to intervene, and she must have actually passed out for a bit, because the next thing she was aware of was a cool, moist cloth wiping gently at her sweaty skin, but then she fell asleep for the long haul, cradled against Anissa’s chest and hoping for the best for the co-captains’ exit strategy without her. 

—

The final game against National City was as brutal and difficult as Anissa had been expecting—maybe even more so. It was a slugfest in sharp cold air, with yellow cards and elbows and tempers flying. The score stood at 1-1 heading into the final minutes of the match, and #03, Anissa Pierce, had never been more exhausted in her life. Her lungs were filled with sand and fire, her muscles injected with lead, but she pressed relentlessly forward, because she had no choice. Her college career  _ couldn’t _ end on a loss, and she’d push herself until she dropped dead to prove it wasn’t an option. 

NCU’s one goal had been deposited into the very tip-top left corner of the goal, and only after Grey had made a spectacular save that, unfortunately, Train failed to clear out of the box before Alex Danvers rocketed it into the net on a no-looker. Bad luck at the wrong time. Freeland was up in attempted shots on goal, but NCU goalie Ava Sharpe had been a human brick wall all night, and a million answered shots on goal would do squat to keep their title. Their one goal came off a beautiful corner kick from Jamillah, redirected into the back of the net by Tori Whale’s forehead. 

In the final timeout, after Coach Henderson did his best  _ Remember the Titans _ routine, Grey touched Anissa’s shoulder as they jogged back to the field. The winger pulled up, raising an eyebrow as Grey’s hazel eyes swept the field behind her. 

Yes, they’d done a particularly memorable job of working together on… Grace… a week earlier, and sometimes that was strikingly odd to think about, but in the future ESPY speeches Anissa rehearsed in her head in the shower, she would definitely highlight the beer pong situation as a salve to their previously burning distaste for one another. 

In truth, while that night had been the catalyst, Grey and Anissa had had to spend a lot of time on the practice field hashing out their communication problems over the ensuing days, their truths freed by the… unique trust they’d established. 

So when Grey asked for attention, Anissa set aside her ego and  _ listened. _

“I think Sharpe pulled a hamstring that last dive. Go for her right side. Low.” 

“She’s got arms like pool nets,” sighed Anissa, eyeballing the opposing goalie, who didn’t look particularly pained to her. 

“Low, right side,” repeated Grey, and she extended a gloved hand, which Anissa grasped and shook with her own open palm after a moment’s hesitation. “Hit it  _ hard _ . Don’t put me in a shootout, Pierce. I’ll take all the glory if I have to.”

“Ha, ha,” sighed the winger as they parted, not without amusement. It wasn’t a lie. If Grey was wrong, Anissa would be the one in the highlight reels missing the last shot, and their status as champs would rest almost entirely on the goalie’s broad shoulders. If Grey was right… Anissa might get a professional contract out of it. There were supposedly scouts in the seats tonight. 

Before the whistle to resume play, Anissa found her fiancé in the crowd one final time. Grace was little more than a blob of black hair and tan skin from this distance, but Anissa could  _ sense _ her looking back, and the grounding feeling of it helped settle her stomach. The next five minutes were for all the marbles, and Grace was going to be there for her, no matter what happened. 

It went wrong almost immediately. Kara got the ball from Jamillah and took off at her league-leading speed, with only Train and Grey standing between her and the goal. 

“On her!” Anissa screamed down the field when Train hesitated near the top of the box. “Up!”

Grey echoed the desperate shout from her position closer to the young player, and finally, the sophomore kicked herself into gear, barreling towards the blonde oncomer with an overstimulated roar. Danvers’ feet stuttered, and she might’ve been trying to nutmeg the defender, but Train hit her like… well, like a freight train, her navy blue cleats clashing with Kara’s red ones in a flurry of movement, and then the ball popped out behind the NCU player. 

The finals crowd, their biggest of the season, erupted in a roar of their own, and Anissa was immediately on the ball, dribbling away from the stumbling, panting Danvers sister and passing to Jamillah at mid-field. She managed to get around Iris West, but at the expense of running straight into Alex Danvers, who kicked it away, towards where Kara was waiting again—but Anissa was able to get there first, her body running on pure adrenaline and fumes, dancing the ball away from the bulkier player yet again. 

Her heartbeat pounded behind her eyes as she took off towards the goal. There was no more time. NCU defenders were all over her teammates to stop a cross, but with Jamillah keeping Alex Danvers distracted, Anissa had  _ just _ the opening she wanted. The world narrowed down to the tap-tap of her cleats against the ball. Her breaths were gasping, pained things, and her legs threatened to give out, but Anissa still outpaced the defender who tried to meet her, like Train to Kara, and then she was staring at the wide stance of Ava Sharpe.

Every other time Anissa had had this chance, she tried to hit a top corner, and usually, she nailed it. Usually. But the stars had aligned and she’d come to  _ trust _ Sara Grey. After a dramatic windup that feigned a high kick, Anissa cranked the speed down as she passed the middle of the box, and she hit a clean grounder to Ava’s right, fast and low, with a tight roll. 

And sure enough, when Ava finally dove for it, her reach wasn’t enough. The ball cruised right past her outstretched fingers, past the spraypainted white line that marked the front of the goal, and came to a gentle rest in the net. 

The evening air  _ exploded _ with sound, and Anissa collapsed, nearly landing on the still-sprawled Sharpe. They both sat up with strangled groans, and Jamillah was suddenly there, hauling Anissa to her feet with both hands and screaming nonsense in her joy. 

“Ladies and gentleman, that was number three Anissa Pierce with a goal in the 88th minute, and Freeland pulls ahead, 2-1!”

Anissa was still getting jostled around by her fellow players when someone yelled for “the thunder,” which was what people called Anissa’s trademark goal celebration. It hurt to even keep herself upright, but for the sake of the team, she gamely balled her fists and gave the ground a flourishing stomp with her right foot. The teammates gathered around her all collapsed on cue, laughing and shouting, and the rush of their emotions helped Anissa limp to the sidelines, to sub out for the final seconds. National City gave a valiant effort to the end, but the hail mary shot from the halfway line, hit by the exhausted Kara Danvers, barely rolled to Grey’s waiting feet, long after the final whistle. 

Their side of the field exploded onto the pitch when the clear was given, energized beyond what they knew how to handle, and the National City players eventually warmed up to the overeager, but earnest, hugs they got from the victors. 

And Anissa—Anissa stumbled to the stands, with just one thing in mind: Grace Choi. 

Her fiancé eventually found her way to the lowest, closest seating section railing, leaning low as Anissa pulled herself up by her arms, and the kiss they shared was salty with sweat and tears, but Anissa would never forget the feeling of pride swelling in her chest at the way Grace was looking at her. 

She had to lower herself back down to the field sooner than she would have liked, before her arms gave out completely, and when Anissa turned, Grey was high-fiving Train nearby, and their eyes met. They exchanged nods and shuffled closer, exchanging a firm handshake after an emotionally charged beat. 

“Captain,” said Grey, good-naturedly, smiling broader than Anissa had ever seen. It looked good on the stubborn goalie. 

“Captain,” Anissa returned, and she was just about to look back at Grace when the team dumped ice coolers over them, which felt painfully good on her burning bones, if Anissa was being honest. They’d kept the ship in Freeland, and despite the uncertain future, Anissa could leave the field, one last time, exactly how she’d hoped. 

—

Weeks later, Anissa was approached by representatives for the Dash, which was the  _ second _ most exciting day of her life thus far. Some of Grace’s family lived in Houston, and all signs seemed to be pointing them there now, which helped narrow Grace’s school choices. Jamillah got signed to Portland, and Grey…

_ Sara _ had stopped by for dinner and wine one night after New Years, platonically—to deliver the news that she’d be setting up shop in Utah. The announcement was bittersweet; they’d actually become decent friends after the final game, and Grace had finagled the room to invite Sara to their wedding. 

“No plus one, because I want you to make a pass at my friend who’ll be at the singles table with you,” Grace had been saying that night as she spooned out vanilla ice cream, desiccated strawberries, and angel food cake into small bowls for dessert. “Her name’s Maggie, and she’s been single too long. I think you’d hit it off.”

Sara blushed at that, murmuring a tiny thank you as she accepted a bowl of the almost unreasonably sweet dessert. Anissa would never say so out loud, because it was Grace’s favorite, but Grace never made things she knew Anissa didn’t also enjoy. 

“Maggie,” Sara eventually repeated, thoughtfully. “Facebook?”

“I’ll send you her Instagram.” Grace looked appeased by the open-ended, if brief, response, and she dug into her ice cream with a smug grin. 

The quiet moments that followed were nice—companionable, not awkward. Anissa mused on the fact that moving meant losing the tight group of teammates at Freeland; joining a professional squad wouldn’t take away that impending hurt. At least they were all parting ways on the heels of a good win.

Thinking about the goodbyes was sentimentality-inducing enough to make Anissa vocalize her thoughts, saying over the table: “Kinda sucks it took us this long to work things out. You’re a good friend, Grey.”

Sara’s eyes widened briefly, and then her cheeks flushed, and she shrugged. “We’ll still play against each other, and we can hang out after. Plus, there’s the Cup and the Olympics…”

Anissa huffed, still entirely too stressed from the finals and landing a new gig to even consider going out for the national team. Yet. 

“But… when we  _ do _ see each other, if you two ever want to do anything like… that… again, it can’t be before a game, okay? That’s cheating.”

Grace snorted into a high laugh, and she reached across the table to pinch Sara’s cheek. “I miss the Grey we had before you knew you’re hot shit,” she teased, eyes curled with amusement. 

“Before _you_ _two_ knew I’m hot shit,” Sara shot back, after checking to make sure Anissa was laughing with them. 

“Just keep your shirt on when I’m coming up to dunk on you, and we’ll be fine.” Anissa shook her head while Grace laughed harder, which was bold of her, considering how  _ she _ ended that night. “And we should definitely get drinks whenever we’re in the same place. You’re not going to be able to get rid of us, now that we like you. Those are the rules.” 

Looking quite unbothered, even pleased, by ‘the rules’, Sara held up her bowl of sugared sugar, and Anissa cheers’d it with hers. 

**Author's Note:**

> drop me a comment or yell at me on tumblr [@trashyeggroll](https://trashyeggroll.tumblr.com)


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